


Bitten

by Mythaled



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythaled/pseuds/Mythaled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Templars and Mages, two scientific factions, clash over their vastly different ethics a meeting is called to put a stop to the violent protesting. However, when a mysterious virus is released onto the unsuspecting population and the dead begin to return back to life the world is thrown back into chaos.</p>
<p>There is only a single survivor, a mysterious woman with a bite on her hand and an immunity to the virus.</p>
<p>[Zombie Apocalypse AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitten

There is nothing. Nothing but the faint scratching feeling on the back of her wrists. A tightness as they are bound to the arms of a wooden chair.

She feels the scratching and the tightness again, though this time it is around her ankles. Her soles are cold and it stings her nerves, shooting pain up her legs. Numbness will take her toes next. 

She doesn't know how much time passes, time doesn't exist behind her eyelids, there is only darkness and quiet voices murmuring veiled words against her ear. She tries to listen to them, her head dropping forward without her permission but the words are blurred together like television static. 

She-virus-hand-cure-immune-kill-alive-help

Her pinky finger twitches, then her index finger, her nail scraping down against the wooden arm of the chair. She feels splintered wood gather beneath her fingernail and a strange burning sensation in the palm of her hand. Her whole hand twitches then and the pain is sudden, taking root in her palm before spreading up her entire arm. She tries to scream but her mouth won't open, lips heavy like they are swelled with blood.

“She is sweating, Cassandra.” She could hear better now. Her eyes were still too lazy to open and the words rang in her ear like she had just stepped off a plane. If she strained she could make out the words and the voice. The woman who spoke, she was Orlesian, her words sticking together like honey.

“And what am I supposed to do about that?” Another woman spoke this time, Nevarran, a long way from home, she thought. She seemed impatient. More noises, boots against wooden floorboards, creaks in beams that rested somewhere above her and a constant low hum, like a guttural groan that permeated through the walls.

“We need her.” The Orlesian spoke again. “If she is immune we can use her, put the gun away Cassandra.” She felt something warm and wet against the palm of her left hand, she tried to lift it but it was heavy like rocks had replaced her flesh.

“If she turns.” Cassandra punctuated each word with a pause, seething anger in her voice. Her inner eyelids turned red.

“She is restrained, if she turns you can kill her but until that happens we must keep her alive.” She heard Cassandra sigh along with the sound of a weapon being holstered. “Find something to cool her down, I'll check the doors.” The Orlesian woman left, she wasn't wearing any shoes, she could only faintly hear the slap of clothed feet against the floorboards. 

Cassandra huffs, her pacing becoming more and more insistent. The restrained girl could feel the purpose in each step, like every inch of movement was more important than the last. Silence settled once more and she wasn't sure if the room was simply quiet or if she was drifting away again. 

There is something this time, distant far off sounds that manifest like whispers against her ear. She doesn't know what they say, they speak in an ancient language that she can't quite decipher but they feel intrusive. She'd shout them away if her lips didn't feel weighed down. She hears distant rushing water but the whispers try to drown it out. 

Suddenly there is everything again and everything is cold. It envelopes her from top to bottom, her hair plastering against her face. Cold, wet drips that feel like fingers run down her back, travelling far too low, far too quickly. She is breathless from the shock, her vision a blinding white as she tries to adjust. The room reveals itself in blots of dark colours, laying itself bare to her. The dim light of the room comes from the flickering bulb of the street lamp. 

Cassandra, she assumes, stands before her holding a washing up bowl in her hand, still dripping with cold water. Just the look of it makes the girl shudder, her clothes are clinging to her like they cannot let go. Cassandra's hand moves to her holster, ready to draw.

“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now.” Cassandra drew her pistol, thumbing off the safety. “Who are you?”

“I'm Imogen Trevelyan.” She swallows thickly, the words sticking to the back of her throat, arms yanking upwards before the rope around her wrists burnt against her skin. “Please, please put the gun down.” Her voice dry and pleading, eyes swelling with water that pleaded to run down her cheeks. Cassandra did not falter, she paid no attention to Imogen’s begging.

“Tell me why the dead walk the streets.” She drops the washing up bowl and it clatters against the floor, making Imogen flinch. She wriggles in the seat, trying to rip herself free of her binds.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Her nails dig into the wood again, raising her wrists, pushing against the binding. She ignored the pain of the rough material cutting against her flesh and tugged harder, tears stinging her cheeks.

“Explain this.” Cassandra holstered her gun, taking a few steps to untie her left wrist. She flipped Imogen’s hand over, pushing it closer to her face. The palm of her hand was sliced open by a crescent shaped wound, it looked a lot like a bite, no, it was definitely a bite. It was still caked with crisp, dried blood that cracked if she tried to curl her hand. 

“I don’t know, shit, I mean it. I have no idea where it came from.” Metal pressed against the side of her head, she could feel the circular barrel of the gun. She flinched away, choking on her own sobs, eyes clenching tightly shut as she felt the gun push hard against her temple. 

“You’re lying!” Cassandra was furious, Imogen could feel the gun shake in her unsteady hands. Maker, save me. Seconds felt like minutes when her life hung in the balance, there was nothing she could ready herself for. She tried to think about how quick it would be, how she probably wouldn’t feel the crack of her skull, how she would be dead before she even registered it but it just made her sob and lean her body away more. 

“Cassandra!” Imogen had never been so relieved to see a fucking Orlesian in her life. The Orlesian smacked the gun from Cassandra’s grip, the hunk of metal crashing into the ground. “We need her!” The two women stared at each other briefly, the Orlesian was a few inches shorter than Cassandra but there was the look of steel hidden amongst the blue of her eyes. 

Cassandra groaned, pacing away from the chair to lean against a counter top. From what Imogen could make out in the darkness they were in a kitchen, a very dismal little kitchen, one that looked like it belonged in a gritty noire movie. 

“She said that dead are walking the streets, what does that mean?” The Orlesian ignored her question, leaning down to glare into her eyes.

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana asked. Imogen closed her eyes, dragging her left hand up over her cheek as she tried to think. She felt the dried blood flake off her hand and what was still wet smear up her cheek. The smell of rusted iron filled her nose and made her want to gag. 

“I was interning for a newspaper, I went to find food and--”

“You must be joking.” Cassandra scoffed, crossing her arms. “You cannot expect us to believe that this all happened because some intern got hungry.” She threw her left hand up, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Cassandra, let her finish.” 

“Leliana, you cannot believe this fabrication. Yes, the end times are upon us because some unimportant girl wanted free food.” 

“I am not unimportant! You just held a fucking gun to my head and you think I’d lie to you?” 

“Yes! You caused this and now you’re trying to get out of it by spouting lies! Maybe you’d be more open to telling the truth if I put the gun back there.” Cassandra stormed closer, there was fire in her eyes and Imogen could tell she was not the kind of person to throw around false threats.

“All I know is I went to find food, I was attacked and I woke up in some fucking dark house with two women I have never met threatening to kill me!” She was shouting now, a blend of fear and anger making her voice waver and crack. 

The humming groans from before filled the room, slow, like a thrumming baseline. It was followed by pounding, beats against the doors and windows like beats on a drum. Cassandra was away from her in seconds, grabbing a bag and slinging it over her shoulder, loading her pistol without even looking. It was second nature.

“Leliana, you go scout ahead, leave from the upstairs window. I’ll meet you back at base.” She tossed a second gun to Leliana, who checked the safety before tucking it down the waistband of her jeans. “Only in an emergency, remember.”

“I know, Cassandra.” Leliana disappeared from Imogen’s sight in seconds, the only clue to her continued existence being the light footsteps on the stairs. Imogen was half out of the chair, the fingers on her free hand working to untie the rope binds. Cassandra groaned, putting down the gun she was preparing to help unlace the ties around her wrists and ankles.

“Are you ready?” She asked, watching as Imogen rubs at her wrists, chafed and raw from where the ropes had bound them. “Stay close to me, run off and I will kill you.”

“You want me dead, I get it. I'm not going to run off.” Cassandra offered her a gun, her hands on the barrel. “I wouldn’t know how to use it.” Imogen mutters, taking the gun and surveying it. 

“You shouldn’t need to.” She adjusts her belt, packing her gun safe in her holster. “Only shoot if you have to, loud noises draw them closer.” Imogen nodded along, aiming the gun at a lampshade in the corner. She couldn’t even imagine firing it, she knew the sound would be deafening and the recoil was likely to snap her arm back. “Imogen!” She jolted, turning her head back to Cassandra who was moving out of the room towards the back door. 

“Sorry, yes, I’m coming.” She followed her out of the room, watching as the carpets changed from a light cream to caked with bloody footprints. Imogen bounced nervously on the balls of her feet as Cassandra messed with the door lock.

It clicked and the smell of death almost overwhelmed her.


End file.
